


Enjoy your bath!

by glitterpile



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime), Ирония судьбы | The Irony of Fate (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, Coincidences, Drunk Shenanigans, Endgame Viktuuri, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Meetings, Getting Together, Humor, M/M, New Year's Eve, Not Cheating, Yuuri and Viktor start in relationships with other characters, but not for long, only unfounded accusations of cheating by OCs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 09:03:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17118383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterpile/pseuds/glitterpile
Summary: Yuuri thinks he might, maybe, finally be getting his life all figured out. Things are going well with his girlfriend. He's really feeling comfortable with this whole living-in-Moscow and teaching-at-a-dance-studio nonsense. And he's successfully introduced his friends to the closest onsen substitute he's been able to find — the Russian banya.But all it takes is one pre-New Year's Eve celebration involving far too much alcohol for him to find himself awoken by a handsome stranger with a dog who definitely shouldn't be there in Yuuri's apartment. Or wait, maybe Yuuri shouldn't be there? If only he could remember what had happened after the banya...





	Enjoy your bath!

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to one of the pillars of Russian movie culture - _Irony of Fate_! If you've seen this Soviet classic romcom before, then you know exactly what's in store, as I'll be following the movie quite faithfully (with a few name changes for the non-YoI characters and so forth). If not, well, it's up to you whether you want to spoil yourself or wait until the end to look up the original. I'll drop a link to the movie once the final chapter is posted, if that's of interest. ;)
> 
> Please sit back, relax, and let the shenanigans BEGIN!

Yuuri picks up a small, crinkling pack of screws off the floor and drops them onto a bookshelf, then pauses to look at it again and pushes it a little further away from the edge. The flat is still unbearably messy, with taped up boxes in some of the corners, and the few empty ones not yet thrown away, but the new place is slowly starting to come together. At least they’ve managed to assemble a most of the furniture since they moved in a week ago — a couch that flattens into a bed, a bookshelf, a half-decorated tree; he hopes it will be presentable, considering…

An insistent, sharp “BZZZRT” interrupts his thoughts, and he scrambles across the parquetry, slipping a little in his socks, to get to the door. He opens it, giving the person on the other side a smile as he does his best to shove his worries as deep as they can possibly go.

“Zhenya! You made it. Did the lift work okay for you?” 

“Of course, of course. I grew up in an old block like this, you know, so it really brings back memories.” She pulls her hat off her hair, shaking out the brown curls, then stands there with her arms semi-raised, somewhat awkward notes entering her voice. “So where should I?...” 

“Ah, let me!” Yuuri takes her hat from her waiting hands and deposits it straight onto an entry hook, then uses both hands to hold onto the large, unwieldy box she brought with her. “What’s this?”

“Decorations! You told me you hadn’t finished hanging up baubles, so I swiped a few from my parents’ closet that they won’t miss. Lead on to the tree!” 

Yuuri smiles at her cheeky grin, waiting a little stiltedly as she takes off her shoes, then walks her through to the living room around the corner, where a deep green plastic fir reaches up to the ceiling. Zhenya grabs a nearby footstool and steps up to the tree, motioning for Yuuri to open the box and start passing up the brightly coloured glass. 

“So, Yuuri, I wanted to ask you… how do you feel about celebrating New Year’s together?” She’s looking ahead at the tree as she says this, not at him, and her tone is incredibly casual. Almost too casual.

Yuuri pauses. His hand hovers over the crumpled paper in the box for a few seconds before he remembers how to continue using his hand at the same time as speaking. “Oh, uh, I thought we were already spending New Year’s together. We’re even getting ready for it together, aren’t we?” He glances between her and the tree, somewhat baffled, wondering if he’d missed something. 

“No no, I meant… _together_ , you know?” 

“Uh…” 

“Let’s not go to the Belyakovs’ tonight.” 

“Oh, but, we already told them we’d go,” Yuuri starts stammering, wondering how his work friends would react to him cancelling on them with less than twelve hours to go before the event, “and, and you even made your crab salad for it, so, well, I’d hate to waste it. It’s such a tasty dish.”

“Well exactly! We’ll eat it, don’t you worry.”

“But… where..?”

“Yuuri, you’re so silly. We’ll eat it here.” 

Yuuri looks around him. Boxes and scrap paper and various IKEA instruction manuals are strewn over the floor. He knows he has two chairs for him and Mari to sit on, and perhaps another one hidden under boxes somewhere, “...but what about the Belyakovs?” 

He sees Zhenya give him a withering glance, and suspects that he’s missed something, but simply can’t reconcile how they’ll manage to fit guests into his new place right now. And how is he supposed to ask them to change the venue at the last minute? He starts struggling to think of a way to phrase the request that won’t sound terrible or awkward — definitely a task he doesn’t feel at all good at. 

They adjust glitter-drenched plastic snowflakes and tiny feather-tailed blown glass birds in silence for another minute before Zhenya speaks again.

“The other day, Oleg suggested that I join him to greet the New Year at the Ostankino Tower restaurant. Pass me that tree topper.” 

Yuuri rummages around until he finds the bright red hollow spike, covered in delicate swirls of gold glitter, and passes it up. 

“It rotates, you know.”

“What?”

“The restaurant, on the tower. It spins around.” 

Yuuri sighs internally. Is she talking about it so much because she wants to go there instead? He knows he can be somewhat boring, and even after so many years in Russia he still feels like an outsider. It would make sense that she wants to go with a local. “Well, if you want to spin, go spin.”

“I want to spend New Year’s with _you_.”

“Ah, I'm- I'm glad,” Yuuri says, a little surprised at how quickly she’s come back to ease his concerns, and relieved that perhaps he can salvage this after all. 

“Dummy.” 

He thinks he can see an eye roll from her, but tries not to dwell on it as he racks his brains for what else they need to organise. “So who else are we inviting along, then?”

“Well that’s the point of it, you see, there _won’t_ be anyone else.” 

“No-one? But what about Mari? Is she going to be with us?” Yuuri wonders if Mari is busy right now, or if she can hear this conversation from the other room. He hasn’t asked her if he could bring people over here tonight, either, so that might be a problem, couldn’t it?

“Your sister will go somewhere else. I’ll help her set up all the food, and then I’m sure she’ll be off to celebrate with her own friends.” 

“Right… I see.” 

Yuuri looks down at his hands as he starts untangling the mess of fairy lights at the bottom of the box, twisting and untwisting wires as he thinks. He's still uncertain about what he's been thinking but, if they're going to be here alone tonight… and Zhenya has been dropping hints… maybe he should just go for it. 

“Zhenya, I was thinking… maybe later in the evening… um, there's something I've been meaning to ask you…” 

“Oh,” Zhenya turns, and Yuuri wonders how she manages to hone in on his insecurities so easily, “are you thinking of proposing tonight? And after two years together, I was starting to despair that you wouldn't!”

Yuuri isn't sure what’s worse, the fact that she's been waiting for him to take this step, or that in some alternate universe she would have been the one to propose and probably a year or more ago at that, putting some other him on the spot. 

“Let's- let's wait. At least until after the Kremlin clock chimes are broadcast.” That would be more romantic, right? Not this… whatever this is. In a half-unpacked apartment, during broad daylight, with neither of them dressed up for the occasion. Yuuri can’t be sure that it would feel more appropriate then, either; all he knows is that right now it simply doesn’t feel quite right.

Zhenya gives him a soft look, and Yuuri can't help but feel that there's some measure of pity in there. “Ok, we’ll wait. I just worry that you'll never end up getting the courage to do it.”

“Ah, that's… it's not my first time, you know,” says Yuuri, smiling sadly at the floor.

“Really?”

“Mm. I actually proposed to my ex, and was completely surprised that he accepted.”

“...so what happened?” Zhenya stills, clearly giving him her full attention. He realises, belatedly, that she hasn’t heard any of this story before. It’s a bit too late to back out of explaining now. 

“Ah, well, I had really rushed into it without thinking. We had been together less than a year, and I’d been drinking and just blurted it out, you know? Just as an idle thought. It was really embarrassing when I realised I’d actually spoken and not just kept it in my head, and when I thought about the realities of him living with me and seeing all my worst qualities every day, I became terrified. The next day I flew out of St. Petersburg and have stayed here with my sister ever since.” 

“You ghosted him?! Wow, Yuuri!” Zhenya sounds shocked, and he can't blame her. It's one of the memories he's most ashamed of. “Are you planning on running from me as well?”

“No!” Yuuri bursts out, snapping his head up to look her in the eyes. “I wouldn't! I promise!”

He can see her still uncertain, still holding back from him, so he does the first thing that comes to mind - lets the empty box slip from his hands, brings her off the stepstool onto the floor with his hands around her waist, and does his best to put any confidence and certainty he has into a tender kiss. After a moment he pulls back, and looks down at her, hands still holding her tight. 

“I _wouldn’t_.” 

Zhenya smiles and pulls him back down for another kiss.

* * *

Mari hears a series of thumps at the door and starts making her way over through the box maze, rolling her eyes as she sees her brother and his girlfriend (fiancée? soon-to-be fiancée?) through the doorway as she passes. They’re not exactly being quiet, and what’s all this business of “Mari will set the table and then leave the house”? Sure, she _does_ have friends that she already made plans with since she expected Yuuri to be out tonight, but that assumption that she’s expected to cater someone else’s celebration is a touch irksome. If she’d enjoyed being a servant, she wouldn’t have moved out of Hasetsu with Yuuri. 

Also, you’d think her ridiculous brother might plan something for once in his life and propose _before_ signing a brand new lease with his sister? Absolutely typical.

She opens the door and leans against the door jamb, raising an eyebrow in Nishigori’s direction.

“The doorbell works, you know.”

“Ah, does it?” He looks sheepish, and glances at it again. “I must have pressed it wrong, then. I guess I’ll get lots of practice now that you’ve moved here! Anyway, is Yuuri here?”

“He’s busy.” 

“Is he? Well, he should be expecting me. Phichit and JJ are already waiting for us at the baths.”

“Is that so?” drawls Mari. “I’ll pass on the message, but don’t be surprised if he doesn’t show up.”

Nishigori looks like he’s on the verge of pushing past Mari and dragging Yuuri out for himself. “He did say he’d come, since I’m flying out to St. Petersburg tonight and we won’t get a chance to catch up later.”

Oh, that’s new. Nishigori isn’t usually much of a traveller. “What are you going there for?” 

“Yuuko had her business trip extended at the last minute, so I’m going to go greet the New Year with her over there. The girls are still visiting the grandparents, and I’d rather keep her company.”

“That sounds lovely.” 

“So what’s Yuuri so busy with?”

Mari hums a little. Best to let her little bro make the decision to announce it, in case he changes his mind or panics or something. “It’s not my secret to tell. I’m sure he’ll enlighten you if he ends up going to the baths today.”

“Ah, I see.” 

They stand there in silence for a few seconds, and Mari waits patiently for Nishigori to realise that he’s not going to be coming in. 

“I suppose I’ll go on my own, then. Don’t forget to remind Yuuri that we’re expecting him!” Nishigori raises a hand to wave at her as he turns back towards the elevator. “Bye!”

“Have fun!” Mari waves, and waits for the doors to close behind him before shutting her door and sighing. Goodness, he’s loud. 

She decides to start making headway on one of the smaller boxes, and is halfway through arranging a bookshelf when she hears voices near the door. 

“So, I had a copy of my key made for you… please take it. I was thinking you could come by at 11.”

“Sounds perfect. I’ll bring the salad.”

“Ah, sure. ...I still feel bad about the Belyakovs, though.”

“They’ll manage. See you tonight.”

Mari hears a kiss, and the door opens and closes, and then turns in time to see Yuuri walk into the room and drop himself heavily onto a chair, shoulders tight with tension.

* * *

“...it looks like I’ll be getting married.”

“Sure does look that way,” Mari deadpans, crossing her arms and obviously waiting him out. Yuuri swallows and tries to attack his growing feelings of dread head on. 

“Do you like Zhenya?”

Mari scoffs. “You’re the one marrying her, not me.”

“That means you don’t like her.” Yuuri groans and lowers his face into his hands. He knew it! He doesn’t feel that he made a mistake, exactly, he _does_ want to stay with Zhenya, but having his family dislike her is a complication he never wanted to consider before he’d suddenly made everything so much more permanent.

“Look, I’m not going to tell you I’m _thrilled_ about her being my sister-in-law, but she’s perfectly fine. I don’t need to fall in love with her; that was your responsibility.” 

Yuuri nods, sighing, and takes off his glasses to clean them. “Do you know where the glassware is packed? We’ll need something for the champagne.”

Mari looks around, sizing up the boxes. “Should be one of these.” She motions over to the couple of boxes labelled “Kitchen - fragile” in untidy kanji, and Yuuri pulls himself out of the chair to find some scissors. 

After they cut through the tape and start searching through the bubble wrap and crumpled paper, Yuuri mutters under his breath, “I’m still not sure what she sees in me.” 

He hears Mari’s familiar snort at him, “I’m not sure either, right now! What possessed you to bring up St. Petersburg? The middle of a proposal usually isn’t the best time to talk about cold feet and exes.”

Yuuri groans again and wonders if he can just not invite Mari to the wedding at all, or any other events ever, for that matter. There’s no way his sister will let him live this disaster down. Though, speaking of that interaction…

“Was there a knock at the door earlier?”

“Ah, yeah. That was Nishigori. Apparently he’s flying out to St. Petersburg tonight, but I kept him out to avoid any interruptions. Aren’t I the best big sister?”

Yuuri blushes a little at Mari’s smirk, and looks down at his watch. It’s still early in the afternoon, and it’s not like he had any other plans before the evening. And, considering that he no longer needs to travel all the way to the Belyakovs' apartment… “I think I’ll go join them — Phichit is trying to make these bath trips a full-on tradition.” 

“Sure, kiddo. I’ll set the table near the tree for you before I go.”

* * *

By the time Yuuri makes it to the public baths and buys a fresh bundle of birch branches from the attendants, Takeshi, Phichit and JJ are already undressed and lounging on the leather couches in their chosen booth, wrapped in the provided sheets. Yuuri joins them, grinning at their exuberant welcomes.

“Yuuri!” exclaims Phichit. “We were starting to get worried that you wouldn’t come! It would be awful if you’d gotten us hooked on this place and then scarpered.” 

Yuuri lets himself be pulled onto the couch, settling into position as Takeshi slides a glass of beer in front of him. “I couldn’t miss it; this is the closest I can get to an onsen around here. Always feels better to greet the new year fresh and clean, right?” 

“Of course, of course! Couldn’t agree more,” chuckles Takeshi. “Now, what’s this about you having something important keeping you busy all of a sudden? I couldn’t get Mari to spill the beans when I was trying to drag you out earlier.” 

Yuuri suddenly blushes, worried what his friends will think about it. He feels it’s so not like him, somehow, to talk about his relationship. “Uh, well… I may have… proposed? Maybe?” 

Phichit gasps - Yuuri is not sure how much is legitimate shock and how much is deliberate overdramatisation - while Takeshi and JJ whoop appreciatively. “Congratulations on your marriage!” 

“Did you get inspired by my proposal last month? Super romantic, right? I bet you just couldn’t help yourself!” JJ’s huge grin makes Yuuri smile as he takes a sip of beer. He’s doesn’t always feel comfortable around JJ’s particular brand of enthusiasm, but it’s nice to be included. 

“Come on Yuuri, stop dawdling and get undressed! You’ll have to spill _everything_ in the steam room!”

“Alright Phichit, alright, just hold on-”

* * *

When they return to their seats, thoroughly invigorated by several rounds between the steam rooms and the icy plunge pools, Yuuri unsuccessfully tries to wave off Takeshi buying another round of beer.

“Really, I shouldn’t, I should probably start getting back-”

“Nonsense!” exclaims Phichit. “Do you seriously expect us to let you go without toasting you even once? We have to celebrate! Here, come on-” he pushes more beer at Yuuri, and claps him forcefully on the shoulder when he puts his hands around the sweating glass, “we need to do a toast!” 

“It’s really not necessary-”

“Just one for all of us, then,” nods Takeshi, “I still need to get to the airport after this, you know.”

“Relax, everyone, it’ll be fine! We have to do this properly,” Phichit insists.

“Alright, a toast!” JJ stands up and lifts his beverage high in the air for maximum effect. “To Yuuri and his lovely fiancée!”

With a rousing cheer of “To Yuuri!” they clink glasses and drink, and Yuuri feels the burst of happiness at his friends’ support warm him to his toes. 

Takeshi looks down contemplatively at his empty glass. “This really isn’t good enough for what we need. It’s a shame this place doesn’t sell anything stronger.” 

“I’ve got you covered!” grins Phichit, pulling a bottle of vodka out of his bag and topping everyone up, deftly overcoming Yuuri’s feeble attempt to evade him. “Where would you all be without me?” 

“Really, I don’t think-” 

“ _Yuuri!_ ” Yuuri startles at JJ throwing an arm around his shoulders and booming in his ear. “So when do we finally get to meet your fiancée? You keep avoiding my invitations to double date with Isabella!” 

“You can all come by my place tomorrow to say hi, if you want. We’ll be staying there tonight.”

“I can’t, I’ll be in St. Petersburg,” reminds Takeshi. Phichit clinks his glass with Yuuri’s, and Yuuri brings the vodka to his mouth absentmindedly. 

“Ugh, vodka after beer,” grimaces Yuuri, “this is awful. And after my late shift at the studio last night…” 

“Here, have some chocolate. Better than nothing in your stomach at all.” Phichit extracts a slightly squashed candy bar from his bag and hands it over with a flourish. 

Yuuri sighs as he unwraps the chocolate and takes a bite, “Alright, just one shot each then.” 

“Phichit, you do the toast this time; you’re the best wordsmith of the present company,” Takeshi points to him expansively with his glass, threatening to slosh some out.

Phichit clears his throat and Yuuri chuckles at his serious attempt at a sudden solemn face. “Alright then. Boys, let’s drink to our dear friend Yuuri Katsuki, the most anxious and shy of our little group, and the last of us to finally overcome those factors and get himself into a committed relationship.” Yuuri scoffs at that last bit - the only thing Phichit is currently committed to is his Instagram account. Clearly, some artistic licence is being used for this toast. “Seriously though, Yuuri, I wish you all the happiness in the world.” 

“Yes, to happiness!” says Takeshi.

“That definitely deserves a drink,” adds JJ. Yuuri gives them all a wobbly smile, clinks his glass with the others and brings it to his lips, the liquid burning its way down his throat once more.

“Hey, hold on — we keep saying fiancée this, fiancée that — you’ve never even told us her name yet, you scoundrel!” — glass drained, Phichit points at Yuuri’s face accusingly. 

Yuuri turns to look at Phichit blankly. Somehow, even as anxious as he normally is about jinxing things, he didn’t think he’d been that successful at keeping his relationships so well under wraps. “Really? It’s Zhenya.” 

“Zhenya, that’s a lovely name. Not as good as Isabella, though.” 

Phichit slaps a hand over JJ’s mouth and grins at Takeshi, “Guys, we have no choice.”

Takeshi nods in response, “Let’s drink to Zhenya!”

“To Zhenya’s happiness!”

Yuuri drinks with them, because of course he agrees that Zhenya’s happniess is definitely a wonderful thing to drink to, then frowns. “You’re all terrible. I thought we were going to have just one…” 

“Ok, Yuuri, now you’ve gotta tell us — how did you end up meeting? Where have you been hiding this Zhenya all this time?” 

“We met at the studio-”

“Where you work? Was she your student?!” Phichit seems poised on the verge of declaring a scandal with a cheeky grin.

“No, Phichit, she was just there to buy a gift certificate to one of the classes for a friend. We got to chatting about the different options, and then bumped into each other near the studio a few weeks later. For some reason she liked me, even though she’s not really interested in dance herself…”

“I think we all know what she was interested in.” Phichit winks at the others, and Takeshi snorts into his drink. “Let’s drink to how good Yuuri looks in his dance gear, then!” 

“Hey, wait- what- is that a second bottle? Where are you spawning them from?! Put it back!” 

Takeshi adds his voice to Yuuri’s complaints, “If we keep going at this pace, I won’t make it to the airport after all.” 

“Relaaaax, you can rely on me. I don’t get drunk,” Phichit states confidently, “so give me your tickets and I’ll make sure you get there.” 

Yuuri half-heartedly tries to protest again as Takeshi passes over the envelope — “I’m really going to go overboard like this, I’ll look like I’m an alcoholic...”

“Nahhh, even if you do, you’re a fun drunk. Nobody can hate a drunk Yuuri,” JJ reassures him, waving off his concerns. Yuuri takes another sip, allowing himself to relax a little. He’s known Phichit and Takeshi for longer, so they’ve obviously proven that they’ll be able to tolerate him no matter what, but if even JJ agrees that it won’t be bad in the end, maybe it will be fine after all. 

 

A few toasts later, Phichit turns to him once more, “Sooo, you gonna tell us how you met your girlfriend?” 

“Who, me?” Yuuri frowns, looking into his glass. Girlfriend..? That doesn’t sound right. Is he supposed to have a girlfriend? He struggles to latch onto the meaning of Phichit’s question. “No, I don’t have anyone right now…”

Phichit holds up a finger and pulls what Yuuri thinks is now the third bottle of vodka from his bag. 

“What’s that for?” 

“We’re running low, and this calls for a drink!” 

“To what?”

“To the single party life! Come on, bottoms up, everyone!” 

Yuuri obediently drinks, then giggles and raises a questioning eyebrow at JJ and Takeshi, who are most definitely _not_ single, enthusiastically throwing back their shots at this proclamation, and then allows his glass to be topped up again. 

“Ah, this is all well and good for you guys,” chuckles JJ, “but imagine the scandal if I go home now, like this, to celebrate New Year’s?”

Yuuri bursts into laughter, suddenly finding the mental image of tipsy JJ running down the December streets back to his apartment wrapped in nothing but a rented sheet, tattoos and bare ass on display, incredibly funny. Yes, that would be a sight! And of all of them, he’s the only one with his initials on his skin, so anyone would be able to identify him. That’s definitely something to consider for the next time JJ is looking for a dare. 

“Ok, everyone, my turn this time,” Yuuri declares, standing up and grinning at the faces watching him curiously. 

Phichit grabs his hand — “Wait, you’re not allowed, you need to get married tomorrow.”

Yuuri pouts, “I remember that, don’t worry!” He’s not going to admit to Phichit that he did, in fact, forget, or that he can't place _where_ the wedding is supposed to be.

Phichit lets him go, with a cheeky: “And if you forget, I’ll remind you.”

Yuuri nods solemnly and gets himself back on track, “I propose a toast… to our friendship!”

“Yeah! Great idea!” “Perfect!” “Excellently said!” 

Takeshi, once all the glasses have been drained, latches on to the sight of the antique-style weighing scales situated in the corner of the hall. “Let’s go weigh ourselves! How much do you think we can get if we all stand on it?” 

Yuuri starts estimating in his head, ready to place a bet, as JJ pours more vodka to the statement of — “I have just had an absolutely _brilliant_ drinking game come to mind…”

Phichit interrupts them all by grabbing onto JJ’s sheet with a firm hand, “Hold on, we don’t have time for that; we have to get to the airport!”

Yuuri pauses, mental gears struggling to lock together, “...why?”

“Because someone is flying to St. Petersburg today.” 

Oh! Yuuri nods vigorously, completely agreeing that that is indeed an important reason to leave the baths at once. “Well of course, let’s drive quickly then!”

“You don’t drive from the airport, you fly…”

* * *

Phichit drums his fingers rhythmically on the slightly sticky table, watching his two friends in front of him thoughtfully. Takeshi is sprawled wide across the tiny food court chair, head tipped back and snoring. Yuuri is right next to him, cheek awkwardly pressed against Takeshi’s jacket sleeve and drooling slightly. Behind them, through the windows on the other side of the hall, blinking red and green lights track through the sky as a plane takes off.

The speakers somewhere in the corner of the ceiling crackle to life.

“ _Dear passengers, boarding is about to start for Aeroflot flight SU-28 flying from Moscow to St. Petersburg. Please make your way to gate 2 for boarding._ ”

Phichit pauses in his drumming for the duration of the announcement, then restarts once the speakers go silent.

“I think that’s our flight.” 

JJ nods at him slowly, supporting his head on one arm. “I agree.”

“Do you remember which of us is supposed to be getting on it?”

“Nope.” 

Phichit brushes some hair off his face and blows out a frustrated breath. “Alright then, let’s try to be logical about this.” 

“I’m in,” says JJ. He looks like he’s valiantly trying to stay awake. 

“Are _you_ flying to St. Petersburg?”

“No.”

“And I’m not, either.” Phichit gestures to himself, and feels satisfied that he and JJ have now successfully halved the potential options when JJ nods in agreement.

“ _Boarding has started for Aeroflot flight SU-28 to St. Petersburg. Please make your way to gate 2 for boarding._ ”

Time to tackle the other two. “Could Takeshi be going to St. Petersburg?”

JJ thinks for a little before speaking. “He could be.”

“And what about Yuuri?”

“He could be, too.” 

“So either of them could be going, then,” concludes Phichit and narrows his eyes at the sleeping pair opposite. This… may be a complication. At least Phichit is absolutely certain that his friends aren’t travelling together, so it can only be one or the other. He notices the stretching silence as he tries to remember which of them it must be. 

JJ suddenly jerks up, eyes glittering with an idea, and starts reaching for his pockets — “Let’s toss a coin!” 

Phichit grabs onto his arm to stop him, saying, “No, we won’t leave this to chance. Now think back, at the banya — who were we toasting?” 

JJ scratches his head. “Yuuri?”

“Right, because he’s getting married!” That, at least, Phichit is absolutely certain about. There was no way that Takeshi could have been getting engaged, because he’s _already_ married. Simple deduction, he thinks, pleased with himself. 

“Wow, you have a great memory,” JJ nods approvingly.

“That’s not the point right now. So, this means _Yuuri_ must be flying to St. Petersburg for his wedding. And he would have told us so himself, for sure, if he wasn’t currently exhausted out of his mind and sleeping off the alcohol.”

Phichit is convinced that he’s on the right track, and he’s about to get up to try to wake his buddy when JJ interrupts him with a shout, “Hold it! Remember, Yuuri told us that he met his fiancée at the dance studio where he works? And that’s right here, in Moscow.” 

Phichit blinks. That’s right, he _does_ remember that. Huh. “I can explain that…” He settles back down into his chair, thinking furiously. If Yuuri is flying to St. Petersburg for the wedding, but his fiancée was here at his studio… Then that must mean… “She met him here, at the studio, because... she was in Moscow for a work trip!” 

JJ’s face splits into a huge, blinding grin. “That’s iron-clad logic, right there.”

Phichit relaxes, grinning back eagerly as he gets up. There’s no time to lose now, since boarding has already started, and nobody likes a late plane passenger. He pulls Yuuri’s arm onto his shoulders, dragging him upright and motioning for JJ to do the same for Takeshi. Together, they manage to push a mostly-asleep Yuuri towards the correct gate, backpack on and with his passport and the envelope containing the plane tickets transferred into his outstretched hand. They watch as the attendant, yawning, gives a briefest glance at the tickets after extracting them from their wrapping, and then Yuuri shuffles down the corridor before the last call for boarding even has time to ring out through the airport. 

Phichit high-fives JJ for a job well done and starts on the task of fumbling Takeshi towards the taxi rank.

* * *

Yuuri comes to what might, if one was really reaching, be called consciousness with a rough shove. He groans, pursing his lips in disgust at the foul taste permeating his mouth, and tries to look around with blurry vision. Tiny fluorescent lights dance, bursting into waves of head pain, and, as he lets his head droop further sideways, another shove lets him know that under his chin was, in fact, another person’s shoulder. 

“Ah, sorry…” Yuuri cringes at the raspiness of his voice and scrunches his eyes shut, rubbing them tiredly. “Where… where am I..?”

“Where? You’re at the airport, you drunkard!” 

Yuuri vaguely registers the stranger harrumphing and getting out of his seat. Right, right. He must have just seen off Takeshi on his flight and sat down for a moment to rest his feet. Yuuri stands up out of his seat and sways, clutching his backpack close to him. He can vaguely make out some doors not too far away and stumbles his way towards them, bringing up his scarf to cover his nose at the first burst of chill, snowflake-filled wind outside. Thankfully, he’s emerged near the taxi rank, and he finally manages to get into one, successfully slurring out on the fourth attempt a rough “Third Builder’s Street, house 25. Apartment 12.” 

A few seconds later, he worries he hasn’t given enough information and blurts, as an afterthought, “On the fourth floor.”

Beside him, the driver snorts in amusement, “Could be the fifth floor for all I care.” 

Yuuri sinks into a painful fog, clutching his head, before he can start to process what’s so funny.

* * *

It so happens that in the Soviet era there was a period of time where many multi-storey buildings were built in cookie-cutter fashion all over the country. No embellishments or decorations were used to differentiate them — after all, the savings to be had through mass production and bare utilitarianism were just too good to avoid when it came to something as uninspiring as a high-density dwelling. In every city you could find numerous examples of the same format concrete blocks, ensuring that you’re guaranteed to feel a sense of familiarity no matter how far you travel within the borders of the mighty Union. Many streets also followed quite similar, if not even identical, naming plans — Gardener’s Road, Fifth Firefighter’s Street, Third Factory Street… 

Thus, despite advancements and renovations and new construction in the decades since, it is still possible to wander into some of the less flash suburbs and think of Russia as a land of standard streets, standard buildings, standard windows, standard doors and even standard locks. And this is how, without sensing anything amiss in his drunken haze, Yuuri is unloaded from the taxi, per his instructions, on the 3rd Builder’s Street (with the same name as his in Moscow), at a block of flats that happens to look entirely identical to his, with the exact same stairwell layout. He enters the elevator, where he instantly kneels on the mucky floor to coo at a large, fluffy dog that is travelling up to the third floor with him, wishing it the _happiest_ incoming New Year, and then, when it and the owner leave, pushes the old, faded button to the fourth floor. He stumbles out onto the landing and his key, of all miracles, manages to open the door to _this_ apartment 12. Yuuri ignores the light switch and staggers in the darkness to the couch, drags off his pants, and promptly falls asleep.

* * *

Viktor closes the door behind him, flicking the light switch and keeping a tight hold on Makka’s leash as he swipes a small towel off his shoe cabinet and bends down to wipe the slush off her paws one by one. Luckily, she knows the drill after so many years, and doesn’t move too much. He ruffles her curly head and unclips her, letting her trot off into the house. 

His own shoes off, and outdoor layers shed, he makes his way towards the kitchen, humming ever so slightly to himself. There’s several bowls and plates of food in the fridge covered in cling-wrap that he spent all of yesterday and today preparing, and it takes him four trips to bring it all to the table. He’s using the good tablecloth today, the one his grandmother bought at the market with her pension and foisted on him, and nudges some of the cutlery ever so slightly until it’s absolutely straight beside the dinner plates. He hums, trying to remember which drawer he kept the new white candles in, and as he turns towards the buffet cabinet he sees Makkachin, gently wagging her tail as she licks at something on the couch.

Viktor takes a step closer, and claps a hand over his mouth to keep himself from making noise — there is a strange man in his apartment, asleep on his foldout couch, and Makka is clearly _useless_ as a guard dog judging by how she’s trying to lick his face to death.

**Author's Note:**

> I plan to drop Chapter 2 before the end of the year - after all, this story is all about New Year's Eve and I wouldn't want to be late! So please let me know your thoughts so far, subscribe to be notified of the next update, and enjoy the holidays!
> 
> If you want to leave a comment or scream at me outside of AO3, I currently hang out at the following places:  
> [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/tasty-pile-of-glitter)  
> [tumblr](https://tasty-pile-of-glitter.tumblr.com/) (as little as possible now that they have their absurd bots rampaging through all the content like bulls in a china shop)  
> [18+!!! on Ice discord](https://discord.gg/jRXfSXc)  
> Come say hi!


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